To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Lysimachus]

Holger nods and begins to work at speed. He cannot send a private reply, but his answer is given in a deliberately general way. His tone does not seem in any way afraid.

"I am in full agreement with you, my lord. As far as I can see, this Legion's 'ownership' of this vessel consisted only of having a single Astartes aboard for a matter of months, and he chose not to deliver it to them. The majority of them never even knew what it was. Hardly a great claim. The only evidence of any connection at all is the Log and the option to use their language. I have therefore permanently deleted both from the cogitators entirely. This ship belongs to Talek Varn."

Edited June 30, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

+Yes, yes, you've found me out, Sergeant: I am a predation fleet exile. Exiled for the crime of medical inquiry, shall we say? "Unnatural experimentation," they called it,+ he sighed over the squad vox. +And what of it? We are all outcasts here. Flotsam washed upon an island of misfits. Now unless you wish to contribute something useful, will you please let me…+ said Vesalius.

+Well its better than being a Night Lord!+ growled Draak.

[Lysimachus]

After some more time examining the Pride's main directory of systems, the Remembrancer turns back to the team.

"My lords, this vessel is simply incredible, far beyond anything I would have ever thought possible! It seems to have endured its long sleep remarkably well. The internal atmosphere was rendered totally inert at shutdown and therefore no oxidisation has occurred to any mechanical systems. There is no major damage to structural integrity and the central Machine Spirit and memory cores have retained 99.4% functionality.

The main reactor is fully shut down… but if I am understanding the power flow controls correctly, it indicates that if we give the order, it can temporarily overcharge the sub-core here on the bridge and shunt the resultant surge down into the main reactor in order to spark fusion there! Once started, the reaction should be self-sustaining.

Now, assuming that it works as it suggests, I believe it would still take several days to bring main power reserves high enough to use the plasma drives or the warp engines… but we might be able to raise power levels enough to start bringing the other systems, like the environmental controls, online? Light, air, gravity. Maybe even the ship's vox and augurs? It would still take some time, of course, but it would put the crewmen in a much better position to mount a defence if we need them to.

Should I attempt it?"

***

[Mazer Rackham]

Not wanting to diminish the all-too-human, and likely contrived enthusiasm on display by Varn's agent, Orphiel kept his worries about a completely fatal and "remarkably interesting" nucleonic resonance cascade to himself.

[A.T.]

"Such a mechanism would be the ideal place for sabotage", stated Odysseus bluntly, "the lines should be verified, and the core manned."

[Lysimachus]

"Very wise, my lord Odysseus. The team of tech-adepts Captain Achard has dispatched to the Engineerium should be there within the hour. I agree we should give them an opportunity to check the main reactor before we take any action… but I fear we also should not wait too long? Other forces are certainly on their way here and we have no way of knowing whether it will be friend or foe who arrives first. We are currently dead in the void, with no protection but a single Escort."
 

[A.T.]

"What of the automations? Does the ship carry only defenses, or machines capable of search and repair?"

[Necronaut]

Convincing Holger had proven far easier than he had anticipated. Too easy. The slippery little man had complied without hesitation or complaint, though whether this marked him as an Iron Gods die-hard or one entirely devoid of an ideology, a died-in-the-wool pragmatist remained to be seen. He was unsure how much the Tyrant's spy had gleaned from those logs, or rather from Vesalius' running high-level translation of their content, but for now he felt slightly more secure in his position. At least there was no longer any hard evidence, save for what now lived in the human's grey matter. And the others, if they cared. 

 

Of course none of the rest of the Kill-Team knew the true identity of his estranged brothers, but it was better this way. Which then begged the question – who was he? Who were his brothers and their fore-fathers? Why did he know the tongue of a Traitor force? His mind reeled at the thought of some shared and hidden heritage with a ragged band of thieves and murderers… 

 

Not so different from now, really. 

 

Edited July 2, 2022 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Holger frowns.

"Another good thought… but nothing so advanced as the Vorax, my lord. Records suggest the crew used a more standard combination of Adepts, Ratings and Servitors for the day-to-day running of the ship. I think we will have to wait for the crew from the Dagger to complete the necessary checks."

***

Just over an hour later, Captain Achard arrives on the Command Deck, along with several other voidsuit-clad officers who spread out to assist Holger with the ancient yet highly advanced technology. Achard seems deeply impressed by the Pride. At your behest he takes the Captain's Throne, his neural command interfaces making him best suited to coordinate the attempts to awaken the ship. Another hour passes before he receives a message over his personal vox link. He listens for a few minutes, then nods decisively.

"Astartes, my Adepts confirm that the Engineerium is standing ready. No issues detected with any of the systems there, the reactor start-up should work as described. If there are no objections, I am ordering it initiated now."

For several minutes, nothing changes. Holger looks around, slightly disappointed. Then, without warning, all lumens on the bridge are extinguished and all the viewers go dark. It is pitch black, and stays that way for long, tense seconds. Perhaps you find yourself counting them... 34… 35… 36… 37…

At exactly thirty-eight seconds, far, far below you - but with a rumbling vibration that can be felt in the bulkheads around you and in the deck under your feet - the colossal main reactor coughs and fires.

Another minute of absolute darkness passes, then the secondary reactor returns to its normal duties and the Command Deck is brought back to life and dim light. You might expel a breath of relief. Holger certainly does, blowing it out past his lips with a quiet but heartfelt curse.

***

[Mazer Rackham]

Harnessing Argo to sit over his plastron, Orphiel stood to casual attention, air scrubbers of the bridge respiratory system working to provide enough breeze to stir the hem of his black-green robe.

+I suggest we mount roving patrols whilst waiting for motive power.+

[Necronaut]

The Pride of Kings, which had lain slumbering in the tranquil waters of the void for over ten millennia, somewhere on the scale of four hundred human generations, fired to life with a mighty roar, its myriad machine-spirits howling to cast off their chains of lethargy. Vesalius permitted himself a small sigh of relief in light of the circumstances – they had done the impossible. Near impossible. By some miracle the core had not detonated after ten-thousand years of neglect and disuse, and they had not all been turned into mincemeat by the welcoming committee of combat-automata. All things considered, the Iron Gods of Kill-Team Cutlass were doing rather well for themselves.

 

This did not sit well with him. 

 

He nodded in silent agreement with Orphiel and rested his chainsword over one pauldron. There were mysteries about this ship whose depths they had yet to plumb. 

 

Edited July 3, 2022 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Holger frowns thoughtfully at Orphiel.

"To what purpose, my lord? There… seems… to be no other threat aboard this vessel besides the Vorax, which are now subdued? Even if there were a new danger, the internal augurs that guided the Automata to their targets are still active, and will provide a warning to us here if any response is required, making this the wisest place for your unit to be?"

He grins, but it is somehow cold, not reaching his eyes at all.

"Unless you are simply looking to… explore?"

He holds up an apparently conciliatory hand.

"I understand you Astartes have a desire for action, but I believe at this point patience is key. I would advise you to wait here."

Over the next few hours, the energy levels in the main reactor slowly start to rise. Once the power reserves are sufficient, Achard, Holger and the tech-adepts start to rouse and engage the various internal mechanisms of the ship. They do this one system at a time, over several more hours, careful not to overstress the slowly awakening Machine Spirits.

First, air scrubbers begin to cycle and oxygenate the atmosphere. You might feel the flow of it over your armour as several fans high up in the bridge ceiling begin to whir.

Next, the grav-plates built into the surface of the deck activate, slowly increasing the downward pull until it finally matches Terran Standard. As it does, you gradually feel the weight of your enhanced bodies returning.

Last, the lumens around the bridge and presumably across the whole vessel gradually increase their output, bringing the ambient light level up to normal.

"Now for the hard bits," Achard quips. "We will try for the vox first, then the augur arrays. I do not like not knowing what might be creeping up on us!"

***

Edited July 3, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Necronaut]

The hours ticked by lazily as Achard and Holger continued their monotonous procedures, and slowly, one-by-one, additional sub-systems came online, new life breathed into them by the mortal work-crews. Vesalius field-stripped and cleaned his boltgun during this time. Thrice. And he performed similar maintenance rituals upon his chainsword and bolt pistol. 

 

He now sat in an out of the way alcove on the bridge counting the knuckle-bone beads donated by the guests they had taken on at the end of their previous mission. And he pondered, and pondered, and pondered. And still he could not square the circle that was this alarming revelation regarding the origin of the language that had been imprinted upon his cortex nearly two centuries prior.

 

To the best of his and the lore-keepers' knowledge, his chapter had always been a crusading and raiding force, but their official founding and direct lineage were kept under an Inquisition Seal. "Nomad-Predation," the Iron-Clad had called their mode of being, their raison d'etre. The closest Gothic translation he could ascribe was "Purgation," but the intent and execution was the same in principle. According to their lore they had existed in the dark wilds of the outer Imperium for an age, preying upon and harrying the Archenemy and xenos wherever they were found, rejoining the wider Imperium only when their greatest chapter champion from ages past had bade it be done. 

 

Beyond that there only existed rumors and legends.

 

The knuckle-bone beads continued to pass through his ceramite-encased fingers.

 

4234… 4235… 4236…

 

What business did the tongue of a loyalist son of a Traitor Primarch (and whoever had heard of such a thing?!) have living inside of his head? Did his true liege lord know of this? Did all the previous chapter masters know of this secret, this revelation?

 

And why had he moved so quickly and confidently to protect a chapter that had exiled him? 

 

That was maybe the question that troubled him most of all. His bonds had been shorn on pain of death, for interfering in matters beyond his ken. He was to spend the remainder of his days amongst the Deathwatch, or wherever he pleased, until such time as he expired. He who was to be the successor to the Lord Chirurgeon, among the most talented apothecaries to have been produced in generations. But such was hubris.

 

This was different. 

 

They had known all along. And the truth was kept hidden – a truth so insane and explosive that after ten millennia of dogma and ritual it could threaten to tear the chapter asunder if word got out. Not that they had Traitors in their midst, but that in their dim and far distant past they had welcomed them in, or rather the wayward sons of Arch-Heretics who were yet loyal to the Emperor's cause. That such persons could have existed, such souls who would turn their backs on their legions and primarchs and stay true to the Emperor, seemed unthinkable, incredible even. 

 

The knuckle-bones continued to click over click click click. Bone on ceramite. Off-white on motley grey.

 

He would learn the truth of this matter, of his birthright, one way or another. 

 

Edited July 4, 2022 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

The Captain's previous comment is about to be proved remarkably prophetic.

Despite more than another two hours of work by teams sent to examine the ship's antenna arrays, communications have not yet been activated. However, your squad vox - boosted by the amplifier carried by Brynjarr, but still at the very furthest limits of its range - crackles to life, picking up a signal broadcast from the patrolling Dagger Thrust:

+++If you can hear us, Captain, Lords Astartes, something has just translated on the northwestern edge of the system, we are moving to investigate. We will be out of voxcaster range for some time. Dagger out.+++

***

[Mazer Rackham]

An ear cocked for the last reports from the escort, Orphiel watched from the thick, armoured glass of the porthole.  A small spark of plasma showed the speck of a vessel next to the Pride, as the frigate moved away at steady rate.

Peering through the front window, the slab of grey adamantium speared out, seeming to vanish into a false horizon, the starfield above it mere multi-coloured algae on the vast sea.  Scaled against their cetacean catch, was the planet falling away to port the marble turning in perpetual gravity swell. Inside, the Astartes moved to their will - or not.  The black-grey vulture of Vesalius obsessively thumbing beads, Decimus upright and untired by the waiting, Draak busying himself with mechanical minutiae.

Orphiel turned back to the window, and the tiny flame in the darkness.

"Let us hope they are not your last words, little knife" he mused to his own ears.

Small flames attracted moths.  How much more terrifying were the beasts of the darkness.

[Lysimachus]

Ninety-eight minutes later the Pride's far more powerful vox receiver is finally restored. Only a few moments after that, a second, garbled message is picked up from the other side of the star system. It is the same voice as before, but now it sounds like the speaker is in pain and barely holding back from panic.

+++...Repe ...ay day! To an… …on Gods vess… …e are un… …ack! …rtes… …ips! … … … …ance!... … …+++

The signal cuts off. It takes another forty-one minutes of rushed work to finally establish outgoing vox communication. As soon as it is available, Achard sends an urgent reply into the void:

+++Pride to Dagger, Pride to Dagger. Report, report!+++

There is no answer.

***

[A.T.]

Time was not on their side, never the less this period of calm afforded Odysseus the opportunity to seek out the ships gellar chamber, or what passed for it. No matter what else on this vessel their work might restore they could not escape on sub-light engines alone.

Besides the chamber was buried deep and well shielded, and the ambient energies would conceal the locus seeker well. The rest of the ship he left to the others.

At length his return to the bridge was not met with good tidings. "Do not announce our presence." If the fools had allowed their ship to be taken it would make little difference... "What range that last transmission?"

[Lysimachus]

The vox officer, an experienced comms man, screws up his face in thought.

"The vox is only just awakened, so I can't be sure, Lord. Well within the edge of the system, of course, but I'd estimate more than an hour distant even at the Dagger's highest sub-warp speed. Maybe as much as two?"

One of the other officers hurries over.

"The team of Adepts working on the augurs and picters is almost there, Captain! Give us thirty minutes more and we might be able to see what's out there!"

***

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel checked the fit and feel of his weapons, pistols first, then blades, before sliding the bolt back on Argo, the gleam of brass indicating it was still ready.

He returned the weapon to brace across his sternum, palms on the butt, fingers laced.

The blue lenses of his helm staring into space - literally.

[Lysimachus]

Again, time seems to pass with infinite slowness. Then the central hololith flares to life, sending weak green light across the bridge. Perhaps a third of the emitters fail to start, making the three dimensional map that shows the Pride at its centre even more hazy than it normally would be. But it is readable.

To the northwest, several contacts are moving in. Two of these are together, travelling at a stately, unhurried pace towards you. Two more seem to have veered off for a time, but are now angling back to rejoin the first pair. Behind the returning ships something else - a half-contact that flickers and spits in and out of existence - spins slowly towards the red dwarf star at the heart of the empty system. Whatever is making this contact flicker, it does not seem to be an issue with the hololith.

Suddenly, some element of the Forgeship's gradually waking cogitators appends classifications to each of the icons, though it cannot yet supply specific names. Four of the contacts are revealed… as Astartes warships!

A mighty Strike Cruiser, escorted by a smaller Gladius-class Frigate. Two Hunter-class Destroyers move languorously, like sated wolves from a fresh kill, to rejoin them.

Behind the torpedo boats, tumbling over and over towards oblivion in the deep red of the star, is the failing signature of a Sword-class Frigate.

***

[Machine God]

"The Inquisitor's fleet." said Draak "The Pride of Kings is a Forge Ship not a War Ship. Captain Achard would I be correct in saying that we just lost our Navigator with the demise of the Dagger?" 

[Mazer Rackham]

Draak's demand for clarity was half-heard.  It was necessary of course, the Serjeant needing to know what his options were.

Still, the fact the warships were Space Marine in origin was of no surprise.  The battlegroup, if it was affiliated to the Inquisitor would have been the fastest, the best armed and armoured.  Sent to the kill.

Orphiel sighed in his helmet.  As the hololith painted the shapes and images of a battle unseen, it wouldn't be long until they knew the colours of the men sent to kill them.  He doubted surrender would be an option for those branded as pirate.  It depended on their tradition and how autonomous they were.

It appeared the Dagger Thrust had found out first, tumbling away into the Red Giant, and in a last twist of the little knife, its prow pointed damningly at the Pride, before being engulfed by the star.

Suddenly he grinned.  Being killed here was always part of the game, but being right was justification enough.  So then, let the silence answer the challenge.

Pride goeth before a fall.

At peace in the quiet, he wondered if they would get back up.

[Lysimachus]

"What…?"

Captain Achard stands in utter disbelief, a single tear rolling down one jowly cheek as he interprets the hololith data. Then he snarls out an answer at Draak, biting off the words.

"...yes, my Navigator! A third of my damn crew! My whole ship. My beautiful Dagger...

Tactical wisdom and common sense are battered by rage and loss.

"Forget life support. Forget augurs. Forget everything else," he hisses at the busily working Adepts. "I want fire control of the main batteries, now!"

But there is no chance that this order can be carried out in time.

***

[Machine God]

"Well if they had used more caution then they would still be alive!" stated Draak with hard steel in his voice. 

"Passive scans, going dark and definitely not punching above their weight!" 

"Now even if we can get our engines and warp drive operational we cannot traverse the Warp. No offence meant but I doubt that Odysseus could do it."

"Mister Holger and Captain Achard, this ship is too big a prize to destroy. In all probability the other force will attempt to board The Pride of Kings. Mister Holger is there any way that we add the remaining Iron Gods in to the crew lists so that if we reactivate the Vorax they would be on our side?"

 

 

Edited December 17, 2022 by Machine God
Thought about the Vorax

[Necronaut]

Vesalius stood, tucking his string of beads away into a belt pouch and strode over to stand in front of the Pride's command throne. 

+Captain Achard, I will not claim to understand your grief over the loss of your ship. Nor do I care. If you wish to continue to draw breath, as I do, then running out our guns, which at present are still non-functioning, would seem foolish.+

He paused, resting his hands on his holstered weapons.

+We are in a precarious position, and a choleric temperament will see us all dead. We have no weapon systems, no sub-light drives, and no allies. But we do have in our possession a marvelous defensive position.+

Achard seemed less than amused by the apothecary's tirade, but he kept his peace, a vein of irritation standing out on the side of his forehead. Vesalius drew his chainsword and gestured to the bridge.

+They know we have found this ship, and no doubt they must know we have started trying to claim it for ourselves. However, this ship is a completely unknown quantity to them: they know nothing of our automated defenses, nor do they know of our prodigious armory, nor do they understand the grotesque scale of this ship. We should show them our undefended underbelly and welcome them in, and let them disperse throughout the ship. Our hunter-killers can harry and demoralize their mortal troops, bleeding them out and dividing them so we can dismantle them piecemeal. As for the Astartes undoubtedly attached to this strike-force… we know how they fight, what they will do, what they are capable of, where they will go. We are trained by the same Codex as they have been. We would do well to lure them into places of our choosing and deal with them accordingly. If they want the bridge, give it to them. We can revert the ship's language to the default, which they will never decipher, and completely lock out the controls, forcing them to tear the cogitators down to their base level to succeed. Meanwhile, we will occupy different locations in the vast emptiness of this hulk, preying upon them from the shadows. To wit, "He is skillful in defense whose opponent does not know what to attack."+

He shrugged and looked at the other Iron Gods. +The general who is skilled in defense hides in the most secret recesses of the earth. So it is written. Let us turn this ship into a giant death-trap. Let the ghost ship live up to its fearsome reputation.+

 

Edited July 8, 2022 by Necronaut
formatting/grammar/editing